Lydrofel
by AlfirinWhite
Summary: This is an after story beginning where the third book and movie left off. It will contain interesting points of view and the next generation of heroes coming from the bloodline of the characters we know and love. Thank you all for the views.
1. A Glorious Day, and She is Mine

Faramir

This is what life should consist of; this torch light, this throne, and these smiling people in our midst. Our grand yet modest throne room has been converted into a lively banquet hall, and our people make merry a feast in my dearest Éowyn's honor. This is the day she was born one and twenty years ago, when the moon was full and the world was in ever growing darkness.

The room glows with the fires that my beloved insists fill the room always. In the time of Théoden King, her uncle, this room had been dark and ever was it full of despair. She wishes to ride out the evil on the dawn of this new age.

"Faramir, my darling, why do your eyes mist in spite of the party? Why do you focus on the distance and not the day?" Éowyn places a cool hand on my forearm, concern etched in her brow beneath the delicate circlet of woven gold which rests upon it. I lift my arm from her grasp and smooth the worry from her face. "My gaze wandered only a moment from the day. I remembered briefly Théoden King, which now brings my mind to thoughts of my brother and how I wish Boromir could have lived to see the happiness of me." I cup her fair cheek in my hand and meet her eyes, "Worry not, I do not despair this day; I wish only your uncle and my brother could have seen us together, and watched you grow as I have." She relaxes a bit and shows me her beautiful smile which warms my heart. "They do see us Faramir. They look down upon us from the stars and cast their favor. They send us blessings each day." She lays her hand over mine which still cradles her face, "Not idly does Alfirin grow."

My Lady stands to address the subjects in the hall and, supportively, I rise by her side.

"People of Rohan, my distinguished guests, I grow weary of this idle feasting. Let us have moonlight dust our toes and bathe our faces. Let us be merry and celebrate with the music of our land!" Cheers of eager agreement fill the room, and she takes my hand in hers. As the people begin parading out the main doors to dance on the stairs and the ground around the front of the castle, Merry the hobbit friend of ours and cousin to Frodo, the hero of our land, stays behind along with Éomer, Éowyn's brother and captain of the Rohirrim. They move toward us, smiling, and I prepare to make conversation with them, but as they approach the doors to the room are thrust open by the outer guard and a bedraggled looking young man of perhaps eighteen walks through them carrying a large leather pack.

Éomer bristles slightly and beseeches him, "What say you?" The man bows shallowly and projects, "My Lord, I am Halsien of Minas Tirith. I bring news from Gondor." Éowyn speaks, "News from Lord Aragorn?" "Aye My Lady," the messenger bows again, this time with more furvor in the presence of the Queen, "this news comes straight from the King."

She brightens at the thought of being contacted by the king of Gondor. She is happy to be on such favorable terms with our larger sister kingdom. The kingdom that once was headed by my father as Steward.

"Speak." She says, regally but with a receptive warmth. Halsien, the messenger of Minas Tirith, digs in his pack for a moment and pulls out a small leatherbound book with the infamous white tree of the king on its black cover. He flips to the proper page before clearing his throat and begins to read from it.

"Should this note reach the beloved and respected Lady Éowyn, Queen of Rohan, and her selected and equally respected consort, Lord Faramir of Rohan, in good health and merriment, King Aragorn and Queen Arwen request their presence in the throne room of the kingdom of Gondor at Minas Tirith to celebrate privately the birth of their son and heir to the throne before he is presented to the White City. It shall be a small affair with only close friends and family in attendence and will be held as soon as all the guests arrive. It is requested that those invited depart for Minas Tirith soon after the reception of their invitation. The King and Queen apologize for the short notice and request of lengthy travel."

Éowyn beams, "We shall leave at dawn! This is wonderful news indeed. If that is all, you are dismissed. You have delivered your message well. You may stay in the guest chambers tonight and ride out with us on the morrow." He bows, "That is most gracious My Lady, but two more invitations have I, addressed to Éomer, Captain of Rohan, and to a Master Meriadoc Brandybuck, Wraith Slayer. His Majesty suspected both to be in your presence?" Éowyn loses her look of absolute regality and laughs lightly, a tinkling sound that brings a smile to my lips. "My brother and greatest friend they are! Aye, they are here with us."

Both men take their written notes and the messenger is shown to a room and his horse taken to the stables to rest and be fed. As Master Merry reads his less formal invitation, chuckles shake his frame and outside the crowd dissipates as the party comes to an end. "What lightens your heart Master hobbit?" I ask him. He looks up from the parchment and smiles hugely, "Aragorn has asked me to spread news to your Majesty and Éowyn. In a footnote on my invitation he has left a note in his own hand." Éowyn straightens her back, "What says it Merry?"

"He writes, 'Make haste! Surely Rohan has enough fast horses to bear you hence in a day or so? We cannot wait to introduce the little devil to his godparents!'" Merry exclaims the last bit in excitement. I grasp Éowen's arm and she drums her fingers against my hand. "Did you hear Faramir darling? Godparents to the Elven Prince of Gondor!" I nod and cannot keep myself from smiling, "Never had I foreseen such a union of the kingdoms. None shall ever doubt our alliance this day or any day hence." She squeezes my hand in agreement, "Let us gather Alfirin for the babe," She says, "it is custom, as it promotes wishes for a long life."

Éomer and Merry take their leave to their chambers and Éowyn and I walk out to the graves of her forebearers. She carries a very delicate velvet pouch at her waist to keep the delicate but ever-blooming flowers from being crushed or losing petals. When passing the grave of Théodred, her cousin and Crown Prince of Rohan before his passing, a sigh escapes her lips. His father, Théoden King, is buried next to him and already Alfirin sprouts from the soil that covers his body. She puts her hand on the earth and hangs her golden head. "I miss them Faramir. I know they see us, but their jubilant faces are lost to me. I wish they could experience this moment with us, and gather Alfirin for our godson from the grave of Helm Hammerhand rather than watching from the stars as we cut from the flowers at their own grave mounds."

I crouch next to my bride. I am not accustomed to her being so vulnerable. She believes vulnerability to be weakness, and if anything in the world, she wishes not to be weak. I place a hand under her chin and lift it to face me. The full moon shines in the tears that streak her cheeks and she leans into me to hide them and begins to sob in my arms. In this moment, I see that I am not just her husband for appearances and peace, not just her chosen consort, but her love. And she is mine.


	2. Dreams Are Born, And He is Mine

Chapter Two: Dreams Are Born, And He is Mine

Arwen

The sun rises on the most perfect of days over the handsome city of Minas Tirith. Each day blesses my eyes with the birth of orange light over the eastern horizon. In Imladris the ground was not quite so flat, nor so bare, and ordinarily sunrises would seek to grace the leaves above with a gentle pink glow and glisten against the calm waters of our slim finger of the mighty river, Bruinen. This new light is a glorious dawn to my new life with my doting husband and my smiling child, and it streams through my window like ribbons on a flowing, dainty breeze.

I stir on my feather bed and instinctively extend my hand toward my son who lies beside me, nestled in soft down pillows and silken sheets. "Eldarion," I coo at him, willing him to wake. He raises a chubby hand and rakes it across his eyes sleepily. Wrinkles dance along the bridge of his nose, upsetting his flawless skin, and he sighs, wiggles his bottom, and settles deeper into his pillows. "Oh child, you are of your father." I whisper, and roll onto my back slowly to allow him to sleep. I sit fluidly and toe the floor hesitantly, wondering if the displacement of my weight when standing will disturb the tiny cherub. Being a mother is instinctual, and I had waited so long and patiently for it that I had refused the idea of a nurse to help raise Eldarion when it had been introduced to me by one of my waiting ladies. I could never have given him up to such a degree, royal blood or not... elven kind or not. But I had not been as indifferent as an Elf should be since the beginning of my life. I had found my passion within the race of men, and it has never shifted.

I admit to myself that my son is extremely like his father. They compare as the sun to a star. Yet, the sun shines in the radiant day and stars make brilliant the inky night sky. He and his father are made of the same fiery substance, but Eldarion lived in the darkness that was my life before his father. He lived and twinkled in my heart and visited me in visions and dreams during the cold times of the battles for Middle Earth. My marriage to Aragorn brought the sun into my darkness and fixed Eldarion in the daytime sky, right next to his father, warming my heart and my soul.

I clutch my bosom and smile the way I never used to, and there is a soft knock at the door. I chuckle softly, for of course it is Aragorn. "Wait a moment darling," I call gently and hope he hears. I stand with abandon, for if I stir the child it will not matter as his father will scoop him up upon entrance. I don my dressing gown and rush like wind across the vast room to the heavy, ornately decorated door. I open it with a beaming expression and am immediately swept into strong arms that are gruff and battle-hardened but always longing and surging with love. His deep eyes capture mine briefly and he brushes my forehead with his lips. I pull away from the scratch of his beard and try hard to make sure he knows that I am not shrinking from his affection. His expression is understanding and his demeanor soft and kind as he takes a deep breath and exhales a lofty sentence. "Is he awake?"

I shake my head and smirk. "That would not stop you. You would tickle a sleeping cave troll if it meant you would acquire his treasure." He laughs and drifts to Eldarion's side, toting me by the hand as he does so. He looks warmly into his tiny round face framed by thick brown curls and murmurs, "How old is he now? How many days has it been since his birth?" I smile, "Nine. He grows stronger each day." Aragorn takes the babe in his arms and cradles him against his bosom. "He also grows larger. I can scarcely lift him!" I maintain my grin and kiss Eldarion's brow. "He shall become heavier when he begins to fuss at me to feed him. I will need to soon. His eyes are reeling for me, you see?" He lifts a finger to tickle his cheek and Eldarion moves his mouth toward the disturbance. Aragorn sighs and the folds around his eyes deepen. "Our son has the eyes of a maiden of the sea. They look like deep enchanting water." I laugh lightly and place my hand on his shoulder. "They will fade as he ages my darling. Now, give him to me. Listen, he's beginning to protest his empty belly." Begrudgingly, he hands me our child and departs for his study to eat in silence.

With my child facing me asleep in a cloth sling I stroll down the marble corridor between the throne room and my husband's study. Aragorn trails behind me uncharacteristically which causes me to fret a bit. As the man, he normally carries himself proudly at the head of the company that is our small clan. It would be improper for him to enter a room lastly, so when I get to his study I pause outside the threshold and await his arrival. I hear his footsteps cease before he comes to the door, and I whirl around to find out what is estranging him so.

"My husband, why have you become such great friends with sloth this –." The word "day" parishes on my tongue before I can breathe its life into my voice. The silhouette standing in the hall drenched in the fading light of day is taller, leaner and filled with an extra amount of grace that Aragorn's form does not possess. Slowly, Aragorn comes into view behind it, and I clutch my child closer to my bosom. My grasp relaxes as my father's voice echoes through the space between us. "May I greet my daughter and become acquainted with my grandson, or have I become too closely related to sloth in my great age?" A hand flies to my lips and tears begin to well in my eyes. "Ada!" I cry, and run into his waiting arms, careful not to constrict my child betwixt our bodies. "You are here and back from your voyage to the Undying Lands. I did not expect you to return, Ada." He smiles exuberantly and frames my face with the palms of his hands. "I would not miss the opportunity to see my grandchild."

I step away and lift Eldarion from his sling. He stirs and fusses briefly until he becomes situated in my father's arms and begins to coo softly. "He's a stout fellow to be certain," he jests. Aragorn steps closer to us and stands proudly at his full height. "He is Eldarion." He says, with all the love and pride that any father ever had.

We settle ourselves on one of the stone benches lining the hall and a messenger boy comes to meet us soon after we sit. He looks winded, as if he'd been running. "Majesties, My Lord Elrond, a caravan approaches with a mighty company. Shall we bid them welcome and allow them passage through the city?" Aragorn beams and shoots me a wily glance. "I doubt they'll be wishing passage, Joachim. Tell the servants to prepare rooms for our guests." My father raises his brows and I copy the expression. "Éowyn?" I ask. My husband smiles, "And others."

My heart lightens. It will be good to be in the company of our friends. I know now the reason Aragorn has been denying the kingdom the knowledge of the new heir to the throne. I look down at my child and feel myself glow with affection. He was once a dream and now he is alive in my waking eyes. He is a perfect and beautiful star in the sky of my life, and he is mine.


	3. Leave it to Hobbits

Aragorn

Sitting at the head of the expansive oaken table with my friends and family gathered around it swells my chest to remarkable measures. As we eat in honor of my son's birth I cannot help but bask in the presence of his mother. Her skin like fresh cream in the light of the noonday sun reminds me a bit of how I could always appreciate the beauty of Éowyn, but never give her even a shadow of my love. Their skin shared the same color but not the same evenness and glow. Arwen has not a single kiss from the sun, nor roses on her cheeks the way the queen of Rohan always seems to. My wife had always been the vision of perfection in my eyes, possessing not only beauty but grace in all that she does. She looks up at me and smiles shyly but I do not look away, though I've been caught. The sun streaming through the window alights her hair and circlet in a way that suggests an angelic halo floats upon her brow. It is an apt description of her with the red and golden tints gleaming through her night black hair as it is illuminated by the glorious afternoon. Angelic. My angelic wife with our cherubic child nestled in her arms.

After the feast and much merriment we all migrate into one of the bedding rooms that we had converted into a lounge of sorts. Arwen wanted it for its smaller size so that is would feel more personal and less formal. With our friends, formalities were things we normally chose to allow to slip our minds. This day is no different. Arwen prepares to reveal the name of our son for the first time to all of our company and I slouch back in one of the many plump chairs that create a circle around the center throw rug. The fireplace blazes a homely crackling warmth as she stands and addresses our guests: "My friends, I thank you for coming to aid us in welcoming our son into the world. He is a child of two races though I feel he may be more of his father than he is of me. I do not mind this, for I have waited for his father for many days to have this one come in time. The race of men is a noble one, and he will represent it proudly as he ages and grows in this new era. Our son and heir to the throne of Gondor has been given the name Eldarion, and he wears it well."

Arwen beamed throughout her speech and as our friends begin to gather around her to I call Merry over to me. He approaches with a confused smile, as he was next in line to see my son. Pippin moves toward us as well, eager to see what I have to say. "What is it Aragorn?" The cousins ask in unison. I think for a moment before answering and I realize the perfect way to remedy my wife's delusion that our son takes only after me. If anyone could point something out in an uncomfortable manner it was Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took. "Listen, friends; Arwen needs a bit of a nudge in order to see how much Eldarion favors her. He has her eyes and chin, but the best way to show her I will leave up to you. Cause some mischief in the spirit of goodness." The men exchange a few glances and then nod without so much as discussing their plan. With wicked smiles they make their way back to the line, jostling the crowd so that they can get close to Arwen and the baby. Sam and Rosie both shake their heads as they slowly begin to understand the reason for the couple's urgency.

"Make way for the Hobbit Heroes of Middle Earth! Make way!" They shout incorrigibly. Already I feel laughter fighting to rise to the surface. Arwen's face gives away her annoyance at their outburst and she eyes me as if she knows I have something to do with it somehow. Her glare is laced with daggers as the hobbits loudly drawl, "Let me see the little prince, show me the ears. I want to see the ears!" The room falls silent as Arwen clutches the child to her bosom and flees from the room at a brisk walk. I did not expect this reaction so I stand and bow to the room before following her out into the hallway. She stands with her front to the far wall of the corridor with her head hung low.

"Arwen," I cooed with a small amount of exasperation in my tone that I hope she can't detect as I wrap my arms gingerly around her waist. "His ears are round, just as yours are, Aragorn." She mutters softly. I press my lips into the crown of her head and turn her 'round by her shoulders. "Arwen, he is your son. He is. Look," I tell her. I point to his eyes and drag my finger gently down the curve of his cheek and his tiny chin. "His eyes are yours and his chin, see?" I take him from her arms and rest the cartilage of his ear on the pad of my first finger so that I can inspect it. It is round, to be sure, but on the upper back of it is a small ridge that reminds me of a budding mountain. "Look, my blossom," I urge her, "his ears are more yours than you think." Her eyes widen as she takes in the miniscule bump. Breathlessly, she snatches the child from me and dances back into the lounge where our friends await us. "Merry, Pippin, you may look at his ears now. They will soon have lovely points, you see?" The men fawn over my little prince just as much as the women, and nothing can dampen Arwen's mood after her glorious epiphany. Her smile permeates all things and her jovial spirit bursts from her every seam.

Moments later when everyone has returned to their seats and Eldarion has been snugly tucked away on the right side of Arwen's bed under the reluctant guard of Joachim, our errand boy, Éowyn begins to clutch her midsection with a look of mild discomfort on her face. I look at her in concern and Faramir holds her closely in an attempt to comfort her, his brow furrowed. "Has the food upset you, Éowyn?" Arwen asks worriedly. I place a palm on my wife's knee to calm her distress. Éowyn looks up with a weak smile, sweat beading on her brow. "Oh, not at all my friend." Faramir rubs her back and looks at us, distraught, "She's been feeling nauseous on and off for weeks now. I've no idea what causes it." Arwen gets a knowing smile on her lips and looks at me suggestively. Éowyn seems to predict the impending subject and interjects before any of us can speak up. There is no doubt in my mind that Rosie, now well on her way with her third child would have spoken right off if she wasn't asleep with her head resting on Sam's shoulder. She had eaten extensively during the evening meal and it seems to have taken most of her energy. "I did not plan to make this announcement for a few more weeks, but the sickness has come sooner than I thought it would and Faramir is upset by it," Éowyn says sheepishly with a grin. "We are expecting a child."

I give them my congratulations and well wishes and allow my wife and a newly roused Rosie to gush over her and share in the joys of motherhood. My smile stretches my face and refuses to fade. Faramir looks terrified and exhilarated and I chuckle as I remember my similar initial reaction. Rosie paces the floor and tells her all the things she will need such as midwives and linens and blankets and booties. She talks in a steady stream and Sam is now the one nodding off in the wide chair that she had previously been sitting in. I shake my head and thank Merry and Pippin once again for helping Arwen out of her minor depressive state over our son's lack of Elven qualities. If you want loads of practical information or a bit of childish meddling, or perhaps just a bit of fun, you may always leave it to Hobbits.


	4. This is Our Lydrofel

Eldarion

"Come _on_ Eldarion!" The auburn haired boy calls from several feet in front of me on the hill in the back of his parents' home. "We must get up the mountain, my brother. Rohan needs us!" He says. The younger boy has a knack for wearing me out. His head bobs up and down enthusiastically and I let the game distract me from my exhaustion. The small hill is for our purpose a large snow covered mountain that we must climb to get to the battle on the other side. Orcs are attacking the city of Rohan and we must use our wooden swords, which for the sake of the game are sturdy metal, to defeat them. "You heard him, girls. Let's go!" My sisters whine and give complaint at the steep incline before them. The youngest, Almariyn, is only in her fourth year but she balls her fist at me and toddles up the hill while Eldrian and Verwyn gape at her with wide eyes before quickly scurrying upward toward me. They would never wish to explain how they'd been shown up by a small child. Verwyn runs past me bellowing, "What's Elboron of the Shield-Arm without his army?"

I laugh. Elboron had taken to calling himself Elboron of the Shield-Arm during his tenth year; the very same year that I will soon trade for my eleventh. He took the title because it is the one his mother earned in the battle for Middle Earth when she slew the Witch-King of Angmar with the help of Meriadoc Wraith Slayer. My sisters and our cousin, Elboron often reenact the greatest battle but change the location as we see fit. This summer my father decided to bring us to Rohan to see our kin while he speaks to Éowyn and Faramir about news that cannot be sent by messenger. Soon I will be a part of these councils and Elboron will follow my lead within months. For now, I must play and pretend while I wish I could know what causes the tension in the air. All I know of it is that there is a new kingdom to the southeast of Murkwood, just north of the Mordorian crater. After the Great War the race of men began expanding and new small villages had come to be in both Gondor and Rohan, but this is the first new kingdom we have heard tell of.

At the top of the hill we begin our charge down to the battle after a stirring speech from Elboron, much like Éomer in the battle for Helms Deep. As we slash away at invisible foes with our wooden weapons, my father slinks out the back door of the palace and my sisters become instantly distracted by his presence and thus they become casualties of war. "Father!" They call, "Father, we are great warriors just like Eldarion and Elboron!" My father smiles, the wrinkles next to his eyes folding deeper than they did when I was their age. I behead just one last imaginary Orc and Elboron declares that the battle is at an end. "Victory for Rohan!" He exclaims and jumps around, tackling me to the ground. "Victory for Gondor!" I cry through my laughter, and he begins to wrestle me into the soil playfully as a retort. My father manages to get away from the girls and grab Elboron off of me and toss him in the air only to catch him again and return him safely to the ground. He stands me up by my shoulders, laughing. "You boys are so eager to play the games of war that I hope for the evil in the world that you never see battle. The enemy shall quake in fear, yes?" "Yes," we yell, and jump up on him.

He carries Elboron on his back up to the door that he came out of and clasps my hand on the way. "I have someone for you boys to meet; several persons to be truthful. The ruling family of Canori is here to give their introductions and state their peaceful intentions in the building of their kingdom." I gasp as he sets my cousin down and brushes off our tunics inside the main hall. "You must both look like princes and represent your kingdoms in the presence of the King, the Queen and their children." "Yes father," I said, nodding proudly. He kneels in front of me and puts a hand on my head. "You are a true son of Gondor, my child." I lift my chin in gratitude. Éowyn comes into the hall with a flourish and rests a hand on Elboron's shoulder. "And you, of Rohan little one." He beams at his fair haired mother.

Upon entering the throne room the first thing I notice is that the largest man I have ever seen is situated in front of Faramir, who sits quite comfortably on his throne. Beside the large man is a fragile looking woman who is just as tall but not nearly as broad. The couple reminds me of a sword and a shield. Both have dark hair that flows unerringly down their spines in light waves. The large man has a booming voice but seems to have an easy tone. Two children are nestled at his feet and yet another rests in the arms of the frail woman next to him. Once the seven of us are a proper distance away from them to commence our introductions they turn fluidly to face us. My father speaks first, indicating that his importance is understood and the lesser kingdom, Canori, would speak in return. "King Baldamion and Queen Hasonfel of Canori, these are my children, Eldarion, Eldrian, Verwyn and Almariyn, the children of Gondor." The couple nodded in unison and Éowyn stepped forward with Elboron, "And this is our son, Elboron, child of Rohan.

Slowly, a fourth child emerges from behind her father and stands next to her brother and sister in front of her parents. She is a fair creature with silvery white hair and eyes of hazel gold outlined with thin blue markings. She wears garb similar to her siblings but she is completely set apart from her family. She is different, a separate entity. Tiny next to her older sister but no younger than my eldest sister, Eldrian. Her gaze is haunting, enchanting, and does not waver from my eyes. She looks at no one but me. Nothing but me. I fidget uneasily under the glare of her golden eyes. The queen gestures at each of her children in turn, "These are our children, Abbotrant," The baby. "Calthilus," The dark haired boy. "Androven," The golden haired sister. "and…" After a pause and a sigh she places a slender hand on the top of the bewitching girl's head. "This, is our Lydrofel."


End file.
